


The Grand Tour

by complexhero



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alpha Qrow Branwen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Arranged Marriage, Bodyguard, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harlequin, James is not evil in this one he's just boring, Kidnapping, M/M, Old-timey women's college but make it A/B/O, Omega Clover Ebi, Road Trips, Romance, Secret Identity, blatant abuse of canon, blatant abuse of history, vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complexhero/pseuds/complexhero
Summary: Qrow Stark is the best hired bodyguard in Remnant. His task? Escort the innocent Clover Ebi from Miss Goodwitch’s Finishing School for Young Omegas back home to Atlas, where his fiancée is waiting. It should be a milk run. Sure, Qrow’s bad luck and Clover’s constant distractions have caused a few headaches, but it’s nothing that a stiff drink can’t fix. But Qrow is secretly Qrow Branwen, of the Branwen Bandit Tribe, whose true goal is not to escort Clover, but to kidnap him so that the tribe can use Clover for their own fortune.For Clover, the journey to Atlas is less of a homecoming and more like a sentencing. His husband-to-be is practically a stranger, though that’s never stopped James from being overprotective. If this cross-continental trip is to be his last hurrah, he’s damn well going to enjoy it. Whether his grumpy but handsome bodyguard likes it or not.The last thing Qrow expected was for some spoiled, supposedly blushing omega to counter him at every turn. Even less, that he’d enjoy it. But Qrow has a job to do, no matter his personal feelings. As the two travel halfway around the world, both have reason to dread the destination. But neither were prepared to find love along the way.
Relationships: Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	The Grand Tour

**Author's Note:**

> This is just..........completely self-indulgent. FG but make it a bodice ripper, but instead of regency it's a weird fusion between RWBY and a Dorothy Sayers novel. I just wanted Clover to wear some 1920s collegiate sportswear. 
> 
> Clover is about 23 here, Qrow late twenties and James early thirties. Yes, I did give Clover a Masters degree so he wouldn't be so baby.

The letter sat heavy in his hands, the expensive paper gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Clover studied the words, inked in impeccable penmanship, and tried to drum up any emotion for the man who’d written them.

_My dearest Clover,_

_I send you my deepest congratulations on your graduation. Sadly, as much as I’d love to see you in your cap and gown, crucial business in Atlas precludes my attendance. Glynda has promised to send a copy of your speech along with a class photo. Perhaps you can recite it to me yourself, once you arrive in Atlas._

_Instead, I hope that you take the opportunity to savor your time with your colleagues. An education truly is a gift. My own graduating class yielded alliances that have lasted over a decade, perhaps a lifetime if we’re lucky. And, if you’ll forgive the expression, I’m confident we are to be lucky._

_While I still have my concerns about your upcoming journey, Glynda assures me you are in the most capable hands. If this is what you truly wish, then it is my pleasure to grant it. What is a few more weeks, when we have waited six years thus far? That being said, please do mind Miss Cordovin. Though I have no reason to doubt you, as you have always been sensible and level-headed. I simply worry over your safety. Forgive this foolish man; until you are in my arms, I will always worry._

_Your humble suitor,_

_James Ironwood_

What a mess.

It was probably for the best that James had missed the ceremony. That anyone from home had missed it, to be honest. Clover never expected his father to attend. The man skipped his formal degree ceremony two years ago out of spite; that he would endorse the additional two years of independent study was a nonstarter. _“If Ironwood wants to pay for you to faff around with numbers for two more years, fine. As long as he keeps his side of the bargain and you can keep your legs shut until the wedding.”_

The elder Ebi was not known for his social graces.

But James had always been passionate about education, had insisted on sending him to Miss Goodwitch’s and hadn’t batted an eye when she nominated Clover for the continuing scholar program. The man appreciated a good book. So James might have enjoyed the ceremony, as much as James enjoyed anything, but he didn’t need to see the way Clover choked up during his speech. The way he huddled with his classmates in an unseemly circle on the front lawn, something unspoken and mournful passing through the little group of omegas. There would be no power plays between them, no business deals or research grants. Only children and charity. If James’s graduation was the beginning of the rest of his life, Clover’s was the end of his.

 _Until you are in my arms._ Honestly. His fiancée chose now to start spouting platitudes, just when Clover resented him the most.

“You seem very deep in thought, Mr. Ebi.”

Clover did not snort at that, because Miss Goodwitch despised bodily sounds. He looked up from the letter, passing it over to her without a word. Miss Goodwitch adjusted her glasses as she read, perched in the high-backed chair opposite his. Clover had always been intimidated by her office, but now that he was graduating it seemed comforting. Or maybe it was just that, for once, he wasn’t in here to be reprimanded.

If Miss Goodwitch found the letter remarkable, nothing showed on her face. After a moment, she passed it back.

“He’s very…excited.”

“Hmm,” Clover agreed, gazing out the window. He was being unfair. It wasn’t James’s fault he was rich; the man didn’t ask to be an Ironwood any more than Clover asked to be an Ebi. Or an omega. But neither did he choose to be a dutiful son. Which he was.

“May I offer you a drink?”

Clover blinked, surprised. Miss Goodwitch was standing, poised in front of the minibar that she kept for the members of the board, visiting alphas, and important alumni. He’d never seen the woman dip into it herself, much less offer that _particular_ refreshment to a student.

“Oh, I don’t drink—“

“Clover,” she said, an eyebrow raised. “You’re an exceedingly intelligent person. I’d like to think you’d grant me the same courtesy. And Professor Oobleck, for that matter.”

Clover winced. Maybe he hadn’t been quite as subtle with his late-night attic parties as he’d thought. He supposed gin bottles had a rather distinct look to them. Even rinsed, stripped of their labels, and shattered.

“Martini?” he asked, with a sheepish smile.

“At least you’ve got taste,” Miss Goodwitch replied. She mixed the drinks with practiced efficiency, poised and graceful. As were all graduates of Miss Goodwitch’s Finishing School for Young Omegas. “I only hope you’ve managed to pass it on to some of your colleagues. Particularly Miss Ederne.”

Unlikely. Elm Ederne was Glynda’s assistant and his dearest friend. She was unpretentious and unsophisticated and, for the record, much more beautiful than him. She taught him to curse and she drank straight rotgut, and it was why he loved her so. Gods, he would miss this place.

Miss Goodwitch handed him his drink, in an ice-cold glass.

“Cheers, to one of my brightest students,” she said, with a knowing smile. “And to a few less rats in the attic. Strange, how they always seem to scurry about on Friday nights.”

“Hmm, someone should study it,” he replied, clinking his glass against hers. The drink was bracing in all the best ways. She’d even made his a little dirty, which he hadn’t asked for but quite appreciated. “I suspect it has something to do with the cycles of the moon.”

“I’ll put in a word with the University,” she said. “It will make an excellent research topic for an omega, provided no one has to pay for it.”

Clover’s eyes glazed over temporarily, recalling endless after-hours lectures from Professor Oobleck on the role of unpaid domestic labor in the economy. Underpaid academic labor was likely a far less troubling problem, at least when it came to omegas. It was the domain of penny-pinching spinsters and those with wealthy, obliging husbands.

What better way to describe him and Miss Goodwitch?

He wondered if she felt sad, or angry, knowing her brightest students would be going off to become housewives and househusbands. Clover took a healthy sip of his drink, wincing at the burn.

“Miss Goodwitch— “

“Glynda, now,” she chided. “You’ve graduated, Clover. For good this time. School’s over.”

Clover stared out the window, at the hustle and bustle of campus. Omegas everywhere, all learning and growing and flourishing in this sacred enclave. Like a secret society, away from alphas and marriage and the responsibilities of adult life.

“I wish it wasn’t,” he said, softly. He wished he could stay here forever. He’d lingered as long as he could. But even James, endlessly patient to the point of being apathetic, couldn’t wait forever.

Miss Goodw— _Glynda_ —gave him a small smile. It seemed so unusual on her typically stern face that he couldn’t help but return it. “I know change is frightening. But you’re not alone. Our alumni are everywhere, if you know where to look.”

She stood, joining him at the window. “You’ve always had your head in the clouds. But now it’s time to put your feet on the ground. James…is a good man, in his heart. But he needs someone to temper him. You have an incredible opportunity, Clover.”

Right. She and James were old friends. How much, he wondered, had his headmistress groomed him for his fiancée? And to what end, James’s or his? Or Glynda’s own, mysterious, master plan?

He’d been so naïve, to enjoy this time.

Clover laughed. “Why do we bother,” he said, bitterly. “Teaching debate, and logic, and science? All the tools of a rational mind. When every time I have a good idea, I’m going to have to pretend to be stupid so I can feed it to someone with actual power without hurting their delicate ego?”

“Because you have to learn the _right_ way, before you can use the way that works,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “Trust me, your soul will thank you. And…try to give James a chance. He might surprise you.”

James hadn’t done a single surprising thing in their six-year engagement, so Clover wasn’t holding his breath. The alpha was a decade his senior; it would be shocking if they had much at all in common. But at least he didn’t seem cruel. Only boring, and a little cold. Easy enough for Glynda to praise him when she got to stay here, unmarried. Untroubled by having to lay with an alpha she hardly knew.

Gods, he was feeling cynical.

“In any case,” Glynda said, curtly. “Try to enjoy your trip. It may be the last one you have, for a while. And keep in mind how lucky you are to enjoy such freedom.”

Lucky. A funny way to put it. The fact that she was _right_ grated on him. Clover was lucky, to be so wealthy. To be marrying so well. To have two whole years of extra study, before being confined to an extremely luxurious prison where he would want for nothing, save the ability to make his own decisions.

Sometimes Clover hated being lucky.

* * *

Maybe Qrow should have cleaned up a bit before coming here.

“You’re late,” Glynda snapped. Which was a great way to greet a guy after so long.

“I’m not _late,_ ” he groaned, waving a hand at her dismissively. “It’s, uh…”

Qrow fumbled for his watch, his eyes widening as he realized he wasn’t wearing one. Blurry memories of last night came back to him, slowly arranging themselves into a narrative. Huh. He should’ve known better than to agree to that last game of cards. At least the winner bought drinks.

Glynda gave him a prim _‘hmm,’_ looking from the grandfather clock in the corner back to Qrow. She had her pointer in one hand, her perpetual companion, lightly tapping it against her opposite palm in irritation.

He leaned over her desk, giving her a suggestive grin.

“You gonna punish me, teach?”

She punished him.

_*THWACK*_

Qrow yelped, yanking his hands back from the desk and nursing his rapidly bruising knuckles. “What the hell? You smack your students that hard?!”

“I was under the impression alphas were tough,” Glynda replied. She circled the desk, tucking her pointer back into her boot, then headed for the door without a second glance. “Come on, then. I don’t have all day, and I still need to introduce you to your client.”

Qrow sighed as he followed her. Well, time to meet his ball and chain for the next three weeks. Gods, how the mighty had fallen. He’d gone from top Huntsman in Remnant to playing babysitter to a spoiled heir. This job was so far beneath him, Qrow could probably do it with his eyes shut. Honestly, he might anyway. How hard could it be, keeping some rich kid from getting their allowance picked from their silk pockets?

It almost made him long for the old days, when Grimm were rampant. Almost.

“There is a _strict_ schedule, which you are thankfully not in charge of. However, at the very least I expect you to not impede the party. Which you will accompany at all times, save of course during personal…”

He tuned Glynda out, letting his attention wander to the halls of the school. Goodwitch’s was like Beacon University in miniature, all dark wood and plush carpets. But a lot of the masculine décor of the alphas’ college had been softened, toned down to something more delicate. The walls were lined with students’ paintings, glass cases displaying delicate lace and embroidery. Photos of past classes decorated the foyer before the main hall, rows of demure omegas with their hands clasped in their laps. An open classroom door revealed an ongoing poetry reading, one omega girl standing with a book clasped in her hand. She barely glanced at it, the words familiar, which she recited with a dreamy passion while a circle of her fellow students listened, rapt.

Qrow did not belong here.

The sound of Glynda’s pointer hitting her palm jolted him out of his thoughts. She was standing a few paces ahead, waiting for him to catch up.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a passion for _The Highwayman_ , shall we continue?”

“Uh, right,” Qrow mumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t get smacked again. Though he wouldn’t put it past Glynda to go right for his—

“Just so you know,” Glynda said, frowning. “While you may not have been the first choice for this task, I do think you’re the right one. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

Like he needed the warning. Qrow was well aware of his situation, his flask alarmingly light in his pocket. And his pockets alarmingly light on cash. As stupid as this little job was, he wasn’t too proud to turn down a handout. 

“Who was the first choice?” he asked.

Glynda looked at him like he was an idiot.

Qrow shook his head, chuckling. “Right, right. I should’ve known. James wanted to do it himself, didn’t he?”

“Do _not_ deviate from the schedule,” Glynda said, in reply. She pressed a manicured hand to her temple, let out a breath, then pushed open the main doors to the school. “Let’s just…find Clover.”

Clover Ebi. Soon to be Ironwood. An omega of legendary beauty, though he could have had the face of a horse and suitors would still be lining up. The Ebis were ridiculously wealthy, but they came from _industry_. There might have been a cannery involved. To marry into the illustrious Ironwood family was a huge get.

Qrow thought it was all idiotic. Jimmy went out and found himself a nice little piggybank, as if he needed any more money or power. And a good-looking one, to boot. Qrow was legitimately impressed at just what a good deal Ironwood had gotten.

Until Clover opened his mouth.

There was a…little yard, he supposed, where the Goodwitch students could play games. Nothing too rough, no, that would be terrible. It was all twee and safe, like a little garden party. The omegas tittered behind their hands as Glynda escorted him across the grounds. The Headmistress sent a few of them disapproving glances.

“Honestly, it’s as if they’ve never seen an alpha before,” Glynda tutted.

“In their defense, I’m incredibly handsome,” Qrow replied, shooting her his best rakish grin. Glynda didn’t bother to respond. He took a nip from his flask when she wasn’t looking.

Eventually they ended up at a horseshoe pit, where one of the older students was enjoying a game with a squat, gray-haired omega woman, likely his chaperone. That was Clover, then. Qrow recognized him from the photo. Clover paid them no mind as they approached. However, the chaperone all but tripped over herself to greet them.

“Miss Goodwitch, how _wonderful_ of you to join us,” she said, with an actual _curtsy_. She looked to her young ward, who was lining up a shot. “Clover, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Just a moment, Caroline, I’ve got one more throw left.”

The woman looked shocked. “Clover! Your Headmistress is present. Don’t you want to greet her?”

Clover shut one eye and stuck his tongue out as he aimed, giving the horseshoe a few experimental swings. “As I’ve just been informed that school’s _over_ , I don’t see why I should. One second, Glynda.”

Glynda pinched the bridge of her nose.

Clover was tall, a hair taller than Qrow even, with broad shoulders and long legs. He was dressed all in cream and white, because of course he was. He wore a cream sweater-vest over a crisp white shirt, the V of the neck decorated in blue and red stripes. And while the high collar of his shirt and his cleanly pressed tie were all in place, his sleeves were somewhat scandalously rolled up to the elbow. The fabric of his sweater clung to his body, emphasizing a trim waist. And while Qrow couldn’t admire it as openly as he would have liked with Glynda right there, Clover’s well-tailored trousers suggested a…rather shapely backside.

A backside that was currently facing them, as he tossed his final horseshoe. The metal clanked against the peg, a clean ringer. Of which there were many.

Clover stood, turning to them with a sunny grin. “Looks like I win again. What do you say, Caroline? Best four out of seven?”

It was then that he grasped just how stunning Clover was in person. Qrow had to admit, pictures didn’t do the young omega justice. In black and white, from the shoulders up, Clover was pretty. In person, he was…well. His skin was lightly tanned, and his chestnut hair fell in soft curls over his forehead. He had a classic jawline, neither too square nor too pointed. And his lips looked soft and slightly full, quirked up in a smile as they were. But the main event was Clover’s bright teal eyes. Like two deep oceans in miniature, calling him in to drown in the depths.

Qrow’s breath caught in his throat.

“Perhaps another time,” the short woman, Caroline, said. She handed Clover a straw hat. “Won’t you put your hat back on? You’ll catch freckles.”

“And what a disaster that would be,” Clover said, taking the offered article but neglecting to put it on. He finally addressed them, regarding Qrow with a chilly expression before turning to Glynda with a nod. “Glynda, this must be my executioner.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Glynda said, pushing her glasses up with her finger. “Qrow, this is Clover Ebi and Caroline Cordovin. Clover, this is Qrow Stark. Mr. Stark will be your…escort, in your journey back to Atlas. Along with Miss Cordovin, of course.”

“Of course,” Clover echoed, with a polite smile. “A nice strong alpha to deliver the cargo safely, and a chaperone to make sure he doesn’t sample the goods. What a merry band we shall be.”

Clover held his hand out for Qrow to kiss. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

He didn’t look pleased. And now he was Qrow’s problem.

“Call me Qrow,” he said, gruffly. He took the offered hand and shook it. Clover’s little keeper clutched her heart.

The corners of Clover’s mouth twitched up, in what might be a _genuine_ smile. “Qrow. Well, I suppose you should call me Clover. Do you play horseshoes, Qrow?”

“Clover,” Miss Cordovin tutted, tugging Clover’s sleeves back over his forearms and neatly buttoning the cuffs. She yanked Clover’s hand from Qrow’s with surprising force, primly tucking the omega away. “You know it would be improper for you to play a _game like that_ with an alpha.”

Qrow watched the exchange, curiosity getting the better of him. There was a flicker of sadness in Clover’s face as his arms were covered up. In fact, the omega’s whole _demeanor_ hid a deep melancholy behind his cheery shell. Relatable. If it was Qrow getting married to James, he’d probably throw himself off a bridge. _Not your problem_ , he reminded himself. Just get in, do the job, then get out.

“Of course,” Clover said. The mask was back in place, impassive and pretty. “I was only joking. Glynda, I apologize for insinuating that your etiquette lessons are anything less than stellar.”

“No offense taken,” Glynda said, graciously. As if Qrow had any idea what he or she or any of them was supposed to be offended about just now. “Miss Cordovin, perhaps we should let the two of them get acquainted? There are some details of your upcoming journey that we should discuss as well.”

Miss Cordovin curtsied, and Qrow braced himself for three weeks of all _that._

“Of course, Miss Goodwitch. Clover, please behave until we return.”

Clover smiled sweetly. “I always do, Caroline!”

He watched the two older women walk off, the little chaperone eagerly nodding at whatever rapid-fire instructions Glynda was rattling off. Clover was gathering the horseshoes from the pit. Qrow took the opportunity to take another sip from his flask. This job hadn’t even started yet and it was already annoying. Last night at the bar probably didn’t help.

“Cards?”

Qrow nearly inhaled his whiskey, coughing and tucking the flask back into his coat. “Sorry?”

Clover was studying him with a cocky grin, all four horseshoes hooked around his wrist. “Cards. As a game. Or maybe checkers? Chess? James adores this one game where you buy and sell property, but I’ve always found it a bit depressing.”

Qrow just stared.

“What do you like to _play,_ Qrow?” Clover asked, lining up a practice toss. “Apparently lawn games are too invigorating for my virtue. No bother, we’ve got a lot of train rides ahead of us. So, what do you like to play? Please don’t say backgammon.”

“I don’t like games,” Qrow snapped. Clover didn’t seem put off at all, his aim never faltering as he tossed his horseshoe.

“Pity,” he said, swinging his arm a few times and then letting his toss fly. It caught neatly around the stake, as if magnetized. “I was hoping you’d be a more challenging opponent than Caroline. She’s lousy at games.”

He held out two of the remaining horseshoes, giving Qrow a wink. “Come on, now. No one’s looking.”

Gods, he should’ve demanded an advance for this stupid job.

Qrow swiped the horseshoes from the omega’s outstretched hand, rolling his eyes. Fine. Clover backed up while Qrow took his place at the line, aiming his throw. He mimicked the motion of Clover’s throw, giving it a few practice swings and then letting the metal fly.

The horseshoe sailed over the pitch and landed in a mole hole.

A soft laugh sounded from behind him. “Try again,” Clover urged, his teal eyes shining with amusement. “You’re right down the middle, just give it a little less oomph.”

“I noticed, thanks,” Qrow said. It wasn’t like they had this type of shit when he was a kid. They were lucky to have _horses_ , and when they did they definitely weren’t playing games with their shoes. Rich people had way too much free time.

His second toss landed in the pitch, but it was a good couple inches short of the stake.

“Ah, good!” Clover said, offering him the third horseshoe. “That would score. Here, do one more. We’ll call that first shot a mulligan. This time, try to angle it so it just—“

“Look, Princess,” Qrow said, crossing his arms. His morning hangover was crystalizing into a splitting afternoon headache. “Thanks, but I’m really not here to be your playmate. I’m a licensed Huntsmen, okay? That means I fight _Grimm._ As far as I’m concerned, my job is to get you from here to Atlas in one piece. Preferably as quickly as possible. So just…don’t wander off, don’t talk to strangers, and listen to me when I tell you to. Anything else is your business. Deal?”

Clover frowned, as his words sunk in. “I…see.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. That was way too harsh. And now Clover would tattle to Glynda, who would tattle to Jimmy, who would summarily fire him and also maybe shoot him. He couldn’t say shit like that to some spoiled Atlas omega. Shit, was Clover about to cry? Qrow patted down his coat, fingers itching for a drink.

“I think we can work something out.”

Qrow blinked. “We can?”

“Of course,” Clover replied. Huh. He…didn’t seem upset. “Like you said, you’re overqualified. I understand completely. James only pays for the best, after all.”

“Uh,” Qrow grunted. “I mean…I’m pretty good.”

There was something kind of menacing about the sunny omega. Something under the surface, buried deep in layers of cheerfulness.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Clover said, idly twirling the horseshoe around his finger. As he did, the sunshine slipped away, leaving the icy look Clover first graced him with. “I don’t want or need a bodyguard. But my overprotective fiancée won’t let me take this trip unless I have one. So you _will_ stay out of my way for the next three weeks, or else.”

Wait. Was that a threat?

Qrow snorted. “Or else _what?_ You’ll come at me with your embroidery?”

“I’m not an idiot, Qrow. Pro Hunstmen don’t play babysitter. You need the money; I’m guessing due to your drinking habit. All your other contacts have dried up, and James is doing you a favor. Quite a big one, if I know James. If I so much as _suggest_ to him that you behaved inappropriately toward me, you can kiss that paycheck goodbye. Deal?”

He batted his eyelashes, parroting Qrow’s words back at him.

“You are…an unbelievable brat,” Qrow growled.

“And you’re a washed-up drunk,” Clover said, smiling sweetly. “I think we’re going to have a lovely vacation.”

Clover threw his last horseshoe without looking. It was a ringer.

* * *

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst start to a job.

The bar next to his hotel was pretty rough, but they had decent food and cheap drinks. Both of which he needed right about now. Qrow took a long pull of his whiskey-soda. It burned on the way down, the ache in his throat echoing the exhaustion that already tugged at his muscles. He had an early start tomorrow. The smart thing to do would be to go to bed, call it a night. But Qrow had an unfortunate habit of not doing the smart thing.

Three weeks. Three weeks on babysitting duty, and then…what. Find another job, he guessed. His contacts in Atlas were practically nonexistent, but maybe if he didn’t fuck this up too bad Jimmy would throw him another bone. Hire him to clear stray Ursa from his summer hunting grounds, or something equally demeaning.

The bar stool next to him scraped against the floor as it was pulled out. He didn’t even need to look to know who was sitting there. He set down the glass.

“What do you want, Rae?”

“I can’t come see my little brother?” Raven said. Of course, it was never that simple with her.

“The answer’s still no.”

No, he did not want to come back. That part of his life was over. He picked up his drink again, swirling it in his hand. Letting the melting ice draw out the time to his next glass.

“I can see you’re doing well for yourself,” Raven snorted, eyeing his wrinkled clothes, week-old scruff, and watered-down drink. She signaled the bartender for one of the same.

“At least it’s mine,” Qrow shot back. He didn’t need this right now. “Not stolen from someone else. Do you have a reason to be here, or do you just like pissing me off?”

The bartender set down a much nicer drink than Qrow had received. Raven accepted it with a nod, tossing a few lien onto the counter. She stirred it thoughtfully, then took a sip.

“Believe it or not, I’m here to help you, Qrow. Let’s just say an opportunity has come up that you might be interested in.”

It was Qrow’s turn to snort now. He leaned over the counter, chin in his hand, gazing at his twin warily. Crimson eyes studied him in return. “Yeah?”

“It’s…about your semblance.”

Qrow set down his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy! It's been ABOUT A YEAR since I started writing/posing fic for RWBY, so here's some absolute AU trash that could only ever exist as fanfic. When real life gets you down...garbage. Write some dumb garbage.


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